


RENT

by gerardslibrary



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: M/M, Rent References
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29352732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gerardslibrary/pseuds/gerardslibrary
Summary: Frank, an HIV-positive musician, wonders how he will leave his mark before he dies; his roommate Brendon, an aspiring filmmaker, struggles to find his place in the world. Gerard and Tyler look for true love as they face the harsh reality of life as HIV-positive young people, while the businesslike Patrick seeks fidelity from his wild-child performance artist boyfriend, Pete. The group's dreams, losses, and love stories weave through the story's narration to paint an emotional portrait of the gritty bohemian world of New York City in the late 1980s, under the shadow of HIV/AIDS.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way, Josh Dun/Tyler Joseph, Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Smut, sexuality, homophobia, drug abuse, AIDS, death, suicide
> 
> This story is the plot of the musical Rent but edited, fleshed out and re-written as fan fiction. I suppose this is considered spoilers for the musical Rent.
> 
> Characters:
> 
> Frank Iero:  
> Tortured musician suffering from the loss of a loved one, confined to his home by mental illness. Frank, having not come to terms with his sexuality, begins to experience unfamiliar feelings for the boy downstairs.
> 
> Gerard Way:  
> S&M dancer struggling with drug addiction falls in love with the boy upstairs, but past lovers may create a conflict.
> 
> Patrick Stump:  
> Lawyer from a rich family falls in love with a man from downtown New York. However, it appears that this relationship was more than he bargained for. ;)
> 
> Pete Wentz:  
> Extroverted poet and performer, protesting against the gentrification of their home in downtown New York and breaking hearts while doing so.
> 
> Tyler Joseph:  
> Kindhearted street performer looking fora purpose in life, and when he falls in love with a man he met on the street, he believes he may of found it.
> 
> Josh Dun:  
> Computer science intellectual who fell in love with the boy from the street, allowing him to open up about his own struggles with sense of self.
> 
> Brendon Urie:  
> Aspiring film maker with an ambition for the big screen finds himself in a constant battle between his ex-boyfriend and his friends.
> 
> Dallon Weekes:  
> Landlord and ex-roommate of Brendon, Frankie and Josh. Dallon married into a rich family, and it appears monetary greed has gotten in the way of his loyalty to his friends.

(Frank's POV)

December 24th, 1989. Christmas Eve.

I sit back against the couch, my calloused fingers mindlessly strum at my second-hand acoustic guitar as I hum quietly along. I'm a song-writer, or at least I was... Over the years I've lost my touch, I struggle to finish one song let alone an album, and I'm too exhausted to perform recently. My foot taps lightly to the tune until I'm consumed by darkness, and a groan leaves my lips. This happens every fucking week. The power gets cut off.

I pull myself to my feet and repeat the familiar routine of collecting all the candles, lighting them individually, and setting them around the apartment, setting everything in eyesight aglow with gentle tungsten light.

Brendon crashes through the door, his hair sleeked back in it's usual, manageable style, and in his balled fist he clutches a document. "You won't fucking believe this-" He seethes, waving the paper around. I furrow my eyebrows and move closer, gently prying it from his gasp and scanning my eyes over it... an eviction notice.

"Dallon's evicting us?" I mutter in confusion as he paces back and forth, shaking his head. 

"The little rat- I found that just taped to our door! And everybody else's! 'Eviction or pay'. What kind of audacity does that man have?" He rants as I sigh, shaking my head as I run my hands through my hair, slowly sitting back at my spot on the couch.

"Calm down, I'm sure there must be an explanation for this- he made a promise!" But my sentence is cut off by the shrill ring of the landline telephone.

'Guess who's in town!" Josh's voice projects through the answerphone, I raise my head with a small smile and glance over to Brendon as it continues. 'It's Josh, throw down the key.' I reach over and snatch up the door keys, my eyes not leaving the eviction notice I was reading over and over. I tossed them to Brendon who jogged out onto the balcony, leaning over to look down onto the street below, laughing ecstatically as Josh waves up from the sidewalk.

"Welcome home!" He shouts down as he tosses them which Josh effortlessly catches.

(Josh's POV)

I grin as I clasp the metal in my hand, nodding to Brendon that I'll be up in a moment and watch as he disappears back inside. As I wander towards the entrance to the apartment building, I'm approached by three men. They look about my age, perhaps a little younger, but they're much bigger than I am. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't afraid.

"You got a light?" One of them inquires, offering out their hand.

"Oh- yeah of course, man-" I nod, reaching into my pocket, but before I can take out my lighter I feel contact to my face; a fist has been swung into my nose and mouth, immediately knocking me off my feet.

"Hey- Brendon!" I call, receiving another hit across my temple. I splutter, spitting out blood over the sidewalk, struggling as the men drag me down an alley. I kick my feet, crying out as I feel a hard boot kick my ribs, and somebody stamp on my arm. 

"I don't have any fucking money!" I scream, giving in as I let them tug off my leather jacket and run off with what little I had in my pockets; maybe $4 in change. The streets of New York haven't changed since I was here last year, and they probably never will. I collapse back against the wall, trying to steady my breathing before suddenly keeling over and spilling my guts over a drain, spluttering profusely in a feeble attempt to control my dizziness. That familiar burning feeling in my throat made me retch again as I pressed one hand against the brick wall to my left.

"Those fucking-" I couldn't even get my words out I'm heaving so hard.

(Frank's POV)

"Josh still isn't here yet.." I mutter quietly as I finally set down the eviction notice, glancing up at Brendon.

"He probably just got side-tracked, you know what he's like." He dismissed, furrowing his brows as he walked out onto the balcony. The sound of a low, grumbling engine could be heard, like the stomach growls of a beast. "And look who it is... our best friend.." Brendon's tone got harsher.

"Dallon's not here, is he?" I hang my head back to look at him, and when I'm met with seething silence, I can only assume I'm correct. I haul myself up, approaching Brendon on the balcony and leaning against it to get a good view. And, sure enough, Dallon Weeks steps suavely out of his sleek black ranger rover, smirking up at us. "Christ..." I mutter, trying to get a better look before I meet eyes with the person below me. A boy is stood on the balcony directly under ours, looking up at me with a small smile. He's holding a cigarette, delicately balanced between his fingers before he places it between his lips and takes a long drag. I find myself blushing slightly and looking away.

"Get the fuck off this street, you bum." Dallon spits at a homeless gentleman, huddled under rags by the bins. There's a hesitation before Dallon moves threateningly closer to him. "Fuck off!" He yells and the man quickly scurries away.

"Oi, leave him the fuck alone." Brendon exclaims from the balcony. "That kind of attitude is exactly the reason that Pete is holding the protest." Pete Wentz. He broke up with Brendon a couple of weeks ago, and Brendon was, to put it lightly, distraught. But they had agreed to stay friends. Pete wrote poetry, and used this to publicly protest. This weekend he was holding a protest regarding the gentrification of downtown New York, which Dallon has played a massive part in. Dallon and his family-in-law bought up all the properties in the area and are reselling them for a profit I couldn't even begin to imagine. Dallon is hoping to evict all the homeless occupants of the city.

"Pete is protesting because he's upset that he's loosing his performance space. It's got nothing to do with my attitude." Dallon retorted smugly, his hands shoved in his blazer pockets. He turns his attention to me, and I raise my eyebrow questioningly.

"You're looking good for a man who's a year in withdrawal." He smirked.

My hands gripped the balcony so tight my tattoo-covered knuckles went white. "I'm not in withdrawal. I chose to quit taking drugs, remember? It's called recovery." I growled.

"Whatever..." He muttered, leaning against the bonnet of his car. "I'm here to collect your rent."

"Uh.." Brendon shook his head, leaning against the railing. "What happened to our agreement? You promised we could live here for free when you bought the building!"

"Well I've changed my mind..."

(Tyler's POV)

I perch on the street corner, an overturned bucket sits in front of me as I drum gently against it; the pitter patter of my drumsticks alerting the attention of walkers nearby. I grin up at them, praying for a cash tip. I managed to scrape by through street performance, but it was getting more and more difficult recently, especially for the cost of my medicare.

My drumming slowly trails quiet as my attention is turned to the sound of a man retching and crying nearby. I furrow my eyebrows, slowly pulling myself to my feet to investigate. I walk myself down an alleyway, clutching my drum sticks as though they were a weapon of self defence, but freeze when I'm met with the body of a man, hunched over and shaking. He's.. tall. And he looks strong. With a mess of pink curls on his head covered partially by a beanie.

"Oh my... god are you okay?" I quickly rush forward, kneeling beside him. The man slowly lifts his face to look at me, and already I can identify a bruise on his temple, a cut lip and a bloody nose. He's cradling his stomach, so I can only assume he is injured there too.

"Yeah, I-" He starts before coughing profusely into his sleeve, dotting it with blood. "Fuck-"

"It's okay.." I whisper, gently taking a rag from my pocket and lightly dabbing at the blood on his nose. "Oh you poor angel... come on, I'll take you home and get you cleaned up." I stand up, offering my hand out to him. I was always taught not to bring strangers home but this man was hardly a threat... and he was so handsome.

"Oh, sure.." He nodded, clasping my hand and pulling himself up with a low groan.

"I'm Tyler." I introduce softly, gently hugging his arm as I smile up at him.

"Oh, Joshua. Or- just Josh." He smiled back, a small blush spreading across his cheeks.

"It's lovely to meet you Josh..." I whisper, absolutely mesmerised by his features.


	2. Chapter 2

(Tyler's POV)

I carefully walk a stumbling Josh about a mile back to my apartment, gently supporting his back as we made our way up the stairs and to the door. Each of his heavy footsteps prompted a soft groan or grunt escape his lips, alerting me of his increasing pain.

"This one's mine! Go crash on my bed as soon as we're in and I'll find my first aid kit-" I spoke softly as I fumbled with my keys, eventually jamming them into the lock and pushing the door open. We staggered together to my bed and I lay him down as gracefully I could, but I was much smaller than he was and so probably lowered him down with a soft thump onto my mattress.

"You stay here, I'll get you some water." I smiled, gently brushing his curly locks from his forehead, which were stuck down with sweat. Josh nodded weakly, giving in to his heavy eyes as his face rested neutrally. He looked adorable.

I quietly slip out of my room and into my kitchen, sighing as I filled a glass up with water, glancing back at my room where he was laying. I could get a better look at him in this light; his arms were inked with tattoos, colourful masterpieces, that lead from his broad shoulders down to his bleeding and calloused hands. His jaw contoured his face sharply, three-day grown stubble appearing , giving him a rugged yet handsome appearance. I didn't realise I was staring for too long, until I began to feel water rush as it overflowed from the glass and slid like crashing streams down my sleeve.

"Oh- ah..." I frown as I snapped my head away, quickly shutting off the tap. I set the glass to the side and pulled open a cupboard above the sink, rummaging through my own pills to reach a small first aid kit. I tugged the red bag out and snatched the water, returning to Josh.

"Here, drink this..." I offered out the glass to him, which he gratefully took, bringing to his lips with a small hum and gulping it down before placing the empty glass on the side table.

"Thank you, I was... so thirsty." He panted, wiping his forearm across his face before wincing. "Fuck-"

"Hey..." I whispered, delicately reaching up and taking his hand, pulling it away from his face.

"Would you be comfortable taking your shirt off? So I could clean your wounds?" I maintain my soft tone, wanting to be nothing but respectful as Josh nods. He grabs the hem of his shirt and tugs it over his head, revealing his toned chest as he flings the clothes to the side. I gulp nervously, trying my hardest not to stare, and distract myself by dousing the gauze in rubbing alcohol.

"It might hurt a little..." I apologise, carefully pressing the gauze to a large cut on his ribs. Josh cries out, flinging his head back and arching his back in agony as he fingers tangle in the sheets.

"I'm sorry!'

"It's okay." He shook his head through gritted teeth, slowly cracking his eyes open to look at me. "It's okay, thank you for helping me..." He spoke gruffly, reaching a hand up to cup my cheek. I giggle, tearing my eyes away as I slowly remove the gauze, replacing it with a bandage which I tape down against his gorgeously bronzed skin. I can feel Josh's eyes on me, and my cheeks growing hotter.

"I wish I could kiss you." He suddenly brings up out of nowhere, and I snap my head up to look at him, a little grin playing teasingly on my lips.

"Well.... why don't you?" I hummed, moving closer so our faces were inches apart, however I'm met with a sigh as Josh shakes his head, drawing back from me as he wipes the remaining blood oozing from his nostril with his thumb.

"I... I'm AIDS infected. I don't want to hurt you." He shrugs, looking away from me as though he were.... ashamed? Embarrassed?

"Me too." I whisper, carefully tilting his face back to look at me.

"It's not the end of the world though, you know. You shouldn't feel humiliated... it's just part of who you are." I mutter, drugging my thumb across his cheek as I look into his deep, brown eyes. "You know, I attend a life support group. Every other evening. I talk to people like you and me... we sing songs... maybe you'd like to come?" I ask hopefully, trying to read Josh's face for an expression that I don't recognise.

It's silent for a moment, and I want the ground to swallow me whole. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset y-" I'm interrupted as Josh crashes his lips into mine, pushing me back against my bed so i'm laying flat and he's hovered over me, his arms rested either side of my head. I raise my eyebrows but quickly melt into his touch, slowly moving my lips against his as my fingers tangle in his hair. He still faintly tastes of blood, but I don't care. I feel his bare chest press against me, and let out a soft, uncontrollable whimper as he slowly presses his hips down into mine. 

I'm starved for touch. I haven't slept with anyone since my AIDS diagnosis a year prior, so having someone here for me made me dizzy.

My fingers begin to tug at Josh's hair as he slowly grinds down against me, a soft moan escaping his lips as my jeans felt like they shrunk tighter and tighter.

"Fuck-" He mutters against my lips, before he slowly drags his face down my cheek and to my neck, peppering small kisses over my jaw and collar bone.

"Josh-" I beg softly, lifting my hips into his as I whined for more.

"God, you're precious." He smirked.

(Josh's POV)

I lay beside Tyler, wrapped in his bed sheets with my arm wrapped protectively around him. His head rested on my bare chest, his legs entangled with mine, as he gazed out the window with a distant look in his eyes.

"What are you thinking about?" I mumbled tiredly, my voice hoarse from the nights events, as I reach up my hand to stroke his hair.

He hesitates before slowly lifting his head to look at me, an adorable sparkle adorning his eyes as he presses a sweet kiss to my lips. "I'm thinking about you." He whispered, his eyes scanning over me for a moment. "I'm thinking about how I've met the most... sweet, affectionate, hot man in the world, right here in New York City." He giggled, and I laugh with him, shaking my head modestly.

"Yeah? If that's me then what does that make you?" I ask softly. 

"Lucky." He whispered, resting his head back down against my chest. "That makes me lucky."


	3. Chapter 3

(Frank's POV)

I'm sat beside the window, glancing out at the midnight city as I strum the same chords I've been playing for the past three hours against my guitar. I can feel the tips of my fingers getting sore, despite their hardened callouses, and sigh as I ring out one last E minor before giving up, slapping my hand against the strings.

"Is Josh still not home yet?" Brendon asks as he wanders into the living room, his eyebrows furrowed in concern as the approaches me.

"Not yet..." I mumble, picking at my nails, as I often do when I'm feeling anxious.

Brendon sighs, tugging at his hair before shrugging on a denim jacket. "I'm going to go search for him, he's never gone this long." He frowned, snatching up his keys. "Do you want to come?" He raises his eyebrows, watching me expectantly. I tear my eyes away from the night sky, glancing over for a moment.

"Uh... no, I'm good. Be careful." I shake my head.

"Frank... you need to leave the apartment some day. You can't stay cooped up in here for the rest of your life..." Brendon's tone changes. I know he's concerned about me, but I don't respond. Eventually I hear his trudging footsteps and the click of the door as it shuts behind him.

He's just looking out for me. It's been over a year before I left these four walls, not including the rare occasion I decide for some fresh air on the balcony. But the world was scary, and I didn't have much time left in it.

Back in 1987, I was playing a gig, back when I could write music, and I met a girl. Her name was April. I remember the first time I saw her, stood in the front row with her friends. Her red hair cascaded down her shoulders and her eyes shone brighter than anyone else in that crowd. I fell in love with her almost immediately. It wasn't long before we became official. We lived together, she'd be in the front row at all of my concerts, it was the perfect life. I was ready to marry her. That was until she lost her father, her last parent, and her mental health depleted rapidly. I'm haunted by the memories; of the nights I stayed up with her as she shook in her sleep, the days I had to scrub blood out of our tiles and carpets, when I begged her not to turn to drugs. She didn't listen, and I don't think she really cared either. She started abusing heroin, meeting up with sketchy men, offering herself to them in return for the needles. Every time I woke up she was sat in the living room, her hands folded in her lap as she stared into the abyss. She was losing herself. I was losing the love of my life. And the day... the fateful day, I came home from going grocery shopping to find her dead in the bathroom, pooled in blood. The doctors told me it was an intentional overdose. When I had returned home from the hospital, a letter was awaiting for me on my bedside table, scrawled with April's handwriting:

'We have AIDS. I'm sorry.'

And I haven't been the same since. I don't have long to live, the doctors say I maybe have a few more years, if I'm one of the lucky ones. If I could just finish one last good song before then, imprint my legacy on the world forever, I'll be happy to go. But it's hopeless.

A soft knock at the door snaps me out of my senses; I sniffle softly, quickly masking the sinking feeling I could feel pounding in my stomach, wiping my eyes with the back of my sleeves before trudging over to the door and swinging it open.

"What did you forget-" I roll my eyes, assuming Brendon has returned for his keys or camera or something, he's always forgetful. But instead of my roommate, the boy from downstairs stands at my door with a little grin, a candle clutched in his hands as he leans against the doorframe. I give myself a moment to take in his appearance; his blonde hair sat like a mop on his head, framing his face perfectly. His skin was pale, really pale... and his eyes were slightly sunken in with grey circles lightly contouring under his eyes. His fingernails are painted black and he's dressed in a black cropped t-shirt, a black cardigan and black jeans. I can't help but feel as though I recognise him...

"You're staring." He whispers, snapping me out of my daydream with a small shake of my head.

"I'm sorry- what can I do for you?" I ask, but he's already moved past me, inviting himself into my apartment. I furrow my brows but slowly shut my door, following him further inside. 

"My lighter ran out, I was wondering if you could light this for me?" He asked softly, his voice slightly hoarse as he held out his handle, inspecting my apartment with a small smile. I raised an eyebrow but nodded, pulling the red lighter from my pocket and moving closer to him. I place one hand over his as he holds the candle out in front of his face, and I lean down to light it.

"You're freezing..." I mutter as I brisk my fingers over his. His knuckles are blue and I can see he's trying to stop himself from shivering.

"Oh, the heat got cut off." He shrugs bashfully. I slide off my leather jacket, swinging it over his shoulders and rubbing his arms to keep him warm, but I'm not too convinced. He looks up at me with a small smile, gently biting down on his plump bottom lip before taking a step closer. We're now only inches apart. My breath hitches in my throat as I look down at him, but I furrow my brows as he looses his footing and stumbles, his eyes momentarily folding closed.

"Woah!" I quickly reach out to steady him, raising my eyebrows in concern as he giggles up at me.

"I'm sorry, I've hardly eaten... just a little weak on my feet is all." He reassures me, waving his hand in nonchalant dismissal. "Anyway uh...." he shuffled before looking back up at me. "Goodnight, I suppose..." I nod as he makes his way to the doorway before pausing. He pats down his pockets, a look of concern washing over his face before he groans.

"Shit- I've dropped my stash!" He curses, immediately inviting himself back inside.

"I just bought that coke this morning!" He falls to his knees, frantically patting around on the floor, under furniture and on top of counters. I watch with my arms crossed over my chest, reluctant to help, and my eyes land on the boys figure. He's slim, but still curvy where he needs to be, and I can't help but feel... aroused? I shook my head, tearing my gaze away as I internally curse myself. I'm not fucking gay. 

"You know..." I begin as I pace towards him, watching as he flips over every item in the house. "You seem really familiar. Have I met you before?"

"I'm a stripper. Down at the Cat Scratch Club?" He turns his head to look up at me, and I can't help but blush at how attractively vulnerable he looks beneath me. "Do you go there?" Realisation washes over me; a grin plastering my face as I nod, waving a knowing finger in front of me.

"Yes! I know you!" I laugh, perching myself on the arm of the couch as he returns to searching for his cocaine. "I didn't recognise you without the handcuffs." I tease with a smirk, earning an eye roll from him. "But... you look like you're sixteen?"

"I'm nineteen!" He explains matter-of-factly, reaching up to run his fingers through his messy locks of hair. I laugh in acceptance before my eyes land on a small clear bag, the contents of it very familiar to me. I glance at the boy, making sure he's not looking before reaching own and scooping it up, sliding it into my back pocket. He already seemed high, he didn't need it. I was just trying to help him.

"Fuck," He sighs as he sits back on his heels, his hands folded in his lap. "I give up... I can't find it anywhere." he huffed, pulling himself to his feet and looking over at me with a small frown, I feign a sympathetic smile and offer him a small shrug in return. There's a moment of silence as he scans my face before slowly moving towards me, gently pushing my knees apart and standing in between my legs. I gulp nervously, but I couldn't seem to get the feeling of my heart pounding in my throat to go down. 

He looked up into my eyes and I had no other choice but to look back, holding my breath as he slowly reached for my hand. Even in the minimal light, I could see his eyes were hazel, but dark. The life in them was gone, but they were beautiful nonetheless. I started to get lost in his gaze before I finally tore my eyes away, looking down at my hand, which he held in his, fiddling with my fingers.

"Do you want to dance?" He spoke up finally with a grin, gripping my hand firmer and pulling me off of the couch.

"W-with you?" I stutter, cursing myself for coming across so timid.

"Who else?" He giggled, lifting my arm up to twirl under it with a grin. A smile tugged at my lips as I watched him move so effortlessly. He gently let go of my hand and pressed his body against mine, wrapping his arms around my waist. I hummed softly, hesitantly reaching up to brush some hair from his eyes, but before I could he pulled away abruptly, having slipped his dainty little fingers into my pocket to pull out his stash, waving it in front of my face triumphantly.

"Don't think I didn't notice." He whispered with a smirk, before pulling away and approaching the door. He turned around for a moment, smirking at how dumbfounded I probably looked.

"I'm Gerard, by the way." He introduced softly.

"Uh.. Frank...' I spoke slowly as I offered my name. Gerard nodded, scanning his eyes over me for a moment before he focused his gaze below my belt. He smirked, winking over at me before leaving and finally closing the door behind him. I glance down, cursing at the problem he'd given me. 

Could I be... attracted to him?


	4. Chapter 4

(Frank's POV)

December 25th, 1989. Christmas Day.

I wander out of my room to see Brendon in the kitchen, boiling up a coffee as he scans through the film he already has footage of on his camera.

"Did Josh come home last night?" I ask groggily, making Brendon snap his head up in surprise. I must've entered quietly.

"Oh- not yet. I haven't heard from him." He frowned. 

I'm getting worried. But he's a strong man, I'm sure he'll find his way. I shove my hands in my pockets, letting out a deep sigh as I glance out the window, my eyes landing on one detail in particular.

I furrow my brows as I move closer, leaning over to get a better look. In the frosted snow against the window, a message reads:

xmas brunch, just us? -G

I can't help but grin. Does he really want to see me again? I thought perhaps I'd annoyed him the night before.

"What are you looking at?" Brendon asks as he moves closer, clutching his coffee in both hands.

"Oh-" I blush, clearing my throat as I straighten myself up. I'm being ridiculous. "Uhh, I don't know. A message from the boy downstairs." I shrugged, trying to move on from the subject.

"Ooh the dancer?" Brendon smirked, reading the message over before nudging me. "You're gonna go, right?"

"Uh.. no." I furrow my brows, folding my arms over my chest. "I'm not gay, remember?"

Brendon sighs, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Frank, I really think you should think about-"

To my instant relief, Brendon is interrupted by Josh as he bursts through the door, looking happier than I've ever seen him, his arms open wide in excited greeting. "Merry Christmas!" He exclaims with a chuckle. Tucked under his arm is a pile of logs for the fire, a bottle of vodka clutched tightly in his free hand and his keys held in his mouth, muffling his speech. A smaller boy follows in shyly behind him, his hands folded in front of him as he smiles lightly towards me.

"Where the fuck have you been? Fourteen hours late! We were fucking worried!" Brendon's tone sounds annoyed, but the grin on his face says anything but, as he embraces Josh in a tight hug.

"Uh... who's this?" I ask gently, circling my finger over at Tyler with a little smile as I wait patiently for Brendon and Josh to finish having their moment before he's introduced to me.

"Oh!" Josh beams, moving over to the boy, wrapping his arm around his waist and pulling him close against his side. "This... is Tyler. You can thank him for me being late, we met last night." He smirked down at the boy who's gone bright red. I chuckle and shake my head with a small roll of my eyes.

"Of course... well it's lovely to meet you. Merry Christmas." I smile over at Tyler.

"And you." He responds shyly, clutching Josh's shirt. He looked like a lost puppy.

"So," Brendon speaks up, gingerly taking the alcohol off of Josh and pouring it into three cups, raising his eyebrows at Tyler to offer him a drink, but he shakes his head in decline. "Josh, how is it at MIT?"

"Ah, they kicked me out." Josh shrugged, taking the cup of straight vodka and sipping it as he perched himself on the couch. "For my theory of 'Actual Reality'. They told me I was being to invasive within the field."

"That's a bummer, man. I'm sorry..." I frown, receiving a dismissive wave from Josh.

The phone rings and we fall quiet as Brendon picks it up, allowing it to play on speaker.

"Hi Bren, baby! It's Pete. I'm having some technical difficulties with the sound mechanics at the stage and... well I asked Patrick to come and help but he has no idea what he's doing. Do you think you could come down and help me? The protest is tomorrow and I want everything to be perfect-"

I tense, trying to gauge Brendon's emotions as he listens, rolling his eyes slightly with a defeated look spread across his features.

"Alright, alright. I'll be down in a minute, okay?" He sighs and slams down the phone. I grimace, glancing at Tyler with an apologetic look.

"Can you believe him?" Brendon shakes his head, looking between the three of us. "I mean, first he dumps me-"

"Pete dumped you?" Josh frowned, glancing at me for confirmation. I nod slightly before sending him a warning look, Brendon was still hurt by it. God knows why. Brendon and Pete fought all of the time anyway, not much has changed. They're just not having sex anymore.

"For some guy called Patrick. And now he wants me to come fix his sound equipment." He huffs, shrugging on his jacket.

"Brendon, you could've said no..." I state hesitantly. I still tread carefully around Brendon, sometimes his emotions get the better of him and I hate to set him off.

He sighs deeply, shrugging as his demeanor deflated. "I know but..."

"Aw that's cute, you still love him!" Josh teased with a grin, and I send him a death glare to keep him quiet. It was obvious Brendon still loved Pete, but his options were limited.

"Hey, um..." Tyler whispered, leaning down to Josh's ear. "We have life support in an hour, don't forget. Be careful not to drink too much..."

"Life support?" I furrow my brows before retreating back into my seat at the sudden realisation of my eavesdropping.

"It's... like group therapy. For people with AIDS. You should come, Frank. It would be good for you."

I raise an eyebrow, looking between them. "On Christmas? A bit depressing, no?"

"Some people don't have anywhere else to go today." Tyler spoke softly, looking into my eyes. He seemed sweet, and genuine. And I almost found myself considering it before I shook my head.

"I'm good, thanks. I don't need therapy."

Josh sighs, but he knows he's lost the fight.

"Well, Brendon... everyone is welcome. It's not just for people with AIDS, if you'd like to stop by..." Tyler offers sweetly, smiling up at Brendon.

Brendon nods as he shrugs on his jacket and shoes. "Sure.. yeah. I'll meet you guys there after I'm finished with helping with Pete."

"Great!" Josh grins, pulling himself to his feet and taking Tyler's hand. "Well I'll see you guys later. And Frankie?" He raises his eyebrow, like a disappointed mother about to scold her children, "Don't stay inside all day." He speaks softly, nodding a little at my eye roll before leaving with Tyler clasped in his hand, Brendon soon following suit, leaving me alone. Again.


	5. Chapter 5

(Brendon's POV)

I arrive at the warehouse where Pete's stage is set up for his protest tomorrow. It's long gone abandoned, but this is where everybody spends their time, hanging out, drinking, smoking... I haven't been here in a while. At least.. not since Pete broke up with me. The walls clanged as people knocked against them, and I approach the platform that adorned a microphone, some speakers and a mixing system. I scan the room for Pete, hoping to see a familiar face, but can't seem to spot him. 

"Excuse me?" I approach the stage where a boy is stood fiddling with wires tangled around his feet. He's short, with auburn hair, dressed in what looks like a fairly expensive suit. He looks up at my face as I address him and I can read the exhaustion on his features. He looks fed up of being here. "I'm looking for Pete? He called and asked for me to come down and help fix the audio-"

"You're Brendon?" The man interrupts me, his eyebrow raised sceptically as he drops all of the wires he was fiddling with, they fell to the floor with a muted thump. I furrow my brows, scanning his face for recognition before it suddenly hit me. 

"Patrick..." I muttered. This is the guy Pete dumped me for?! He looks devastated as he sighs, folding his arms over his chest in irritation. "Pete said he'd be here." I frowned, glancing away awkwardly. It was uncomfortable being around Patrick. What did he have that I didn't?

"Don't hold your breath... Pete's never reliable." Patrick mumbled, rolling his eyes as he knelt down, returning to the mess of wires he had previously abandoned.

I scoff, strolling around as I consider whether to stay and help or ditch. "This is so typical. Pete was always pulling stunts like this." I think aloud, glancing at the struggling boy on stage before rolling my eyes and approaching him. "Here, it's easier if you do it like this." I speak quietly as I gently pry the wires from his gasp, showing him how to untangle them and hook them up to their respective equipment in an efficient manner.

Patrick sits quietly, his hands folded in his lap before he sighs in irritation. "Pete promised he'd be more reliable. He said he'd try harder for me!" He ranted. I furrow my eyebrows as he spontaneously begins to confide in me, but I only shrug, glancing up at him.

"That's Pete's game for you. He tried that on me too. And look where that got us." I smile apologetically, but I can feel Patrick's glare shooting daggers at me.

"No. It's different with me." He insists. I chuckle.

"Has he ever.... pouted his lips and called you," I look up at Patrick with an over-exaggerated pout, morphing my face into puppy-dog eyes to mimic Pete. "'Pookie'."

"Never." He smirks, folding his arms as he pulls himself to his feet, a smug, triumphant look spreads across his features. 

I nod, raising my eyebrows as I pull myself to my feet to inspect the speakers. "Have you ever doubted a kiss?" I questioned, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. I see him hesitate, immediately shrinking from his previous demeanour as he stands up to approach me.

"Well..." He starts, his tone much lower than before. "Sometimes, when I'm around him, he doesn't really... see me for me. I feel like he's trying to change me. And that he's maybe got his eye on somebody else that I don't know about..." He confides in me.

I smirk, knowing I've got to him. I'm not trying to sabotage their relationship, but I know what Pete's like, and I think Patrick does too. "I felt the same." I spoke nonchalantly, watching as Patrick furrowed his brows in thought before moving close to me, so he was only inches away, and lowering his voice to barely above a whisper.

"Did he... flirt with other boys when he was with you?" 

I scoff, letting out a brief, uncontrollable laugh as I nodded, stepping back from the equipment. "More than flirt...."

"Christ..." Patrick frowned, holding a hand to his mouth as he wandered to the other side of the stage. "I feel sick-"

I shrug, switching on the speakers. "Why do we love when he's mean, eh?" I tease approaching the microphone and tapping it lightly, hearing a muffled sound escape the speakers. "Everything's working." I smile over at Patrick who appears to look deflated and miserable.

"Thanks, I guess." He mutters, approaching a landline phone as it vibrates and rings incessantly. "Hello? Pete! Yeah we got it all working I-" He falls silent, his brows furrowing as he glances back at me before turning back to the phone. "Pookie? You... you never call me Pookie? Yeah... okay whatever. I love you, bye." He sighs, slamming the phone down with a hint of aggression. I smirk as I sling my jacket back over my shoulders.

"Aw. Pookie!" I tease, earning a glare from Patrick as I let myself out.


End file.
